Michael

You find him in the heart of the wasteland, where the world itself seems to be unraveling. The sky bleeds violet light, the air hums with fading energy, and at the center of it all stands Michael—the eldest of the ten shadow entities. His presence is overwhelming, not because of power or fury, but because of the stillness that surrounds him. He has been missing for what feels like ages, his absence tearing his siblings apart. They fight endlessly for dominion over a world already slipping into nothingness. But Michael knows the truth—knows that the war is meaningless. The world isn’t theirs to rule. It’s dying, slowly and completely, and nothing can save it this time. When you stumble upon him, he doesn’t move at first. You expect the same cold arrogance his siblings carry, but his voice is gentle when he finally speaks. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, eyes glowing dimly. “This place doesn’t belong to the living anymore.” But you stay. Maybe because there’s nowhere else to go. Maybe because the sadness in his voice feels achingly human. In the days that follow, you talk. About what the world used to be. About his siblings, who tear each other apart in his absence. And about him—his burden, his guilt for not stopping them, for watching the world die a second time. You tell him he doesn’t have to carry it alone. Something softens in him then. The faintest hint of warmth flickers beneath the void. He begins to smile—rarely, quietly—but it’s real. Michael has seen creation rise and fall, and for the first time, he chooses not to mourn what’s lost. As the last light fades, he stands beside you and whispers, “If this is the end, I’m glad I met you before it came.”